Sarky's Skyrim Misadventures
by addrinum
Summary: Swiftly written, possibly gibberishy. My first fic, not in my native tongue, so please review and enjoy, if possible.


**Bumpy Ride to the Chopping Block**

A snowflake the size of a marble flew with high velocity into my ear, bringing with it my lost consciousness back into my skull, and lodging itself somewhere near the hippocampus. _Man, I forgot how harsh Skyrim wind is_ – was the first thought that presented itself in my aching brain, once it unfroze. Then, when most of the rest of my neurological functions kicked in, I fluttered my eyelids open as sudden realization hit me – _I'm home_.

Vertigo overcame me, as did the strong need to vomit. Everything was blurry and I couldn't tell what's up and what down. I was disoriented and my head hurt like it was about to fall off. And on top of all these miseries, my body was thumping wildly on the hard wooden bench of a carriage. As I was fighting the urge to squeal like a lost puppy, I cast a quick glance around my surroundings, noticing I was in a carriage with three other personas unknown to me, in the middle of a caravan, with what looked like a military escort.

_Great, I've gotten myself into trouble again_ - I thought to myself miserably. _My dad was right, I should have been a fuckin baker_.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake." said the man right across from me, pulling me out of my grim thoughts and into the harsh, cold reality of Skyrim.

"You were trying to cross the border, right. Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." while he was saying that, a sudden and mildly painful flashback reminded me that I was hit in the head with a sword hilt, by the lovely Imperial soldiers who bring justice to every citizen of the Empire. I didn't even know what was going on, I had just crossed the border into Skyrim ending a long and arduous journey, when suddenly I heard I rider galloping with great speed behind me, and just as I was about to turn around, BAM and blackness.

"Damn you Stormcloaks" the man labeled as thief started his own monologue which I haven't paid much attention to, as I was feeling cold, and there was drumming in my ears. I was just looking around trying to soak in as much landscape as I could, for I haven't seen the mountains I was born in for too long. I spent many a decade away from home, waging other people's battles for a fistful of gold, and now that I'm finally back I unwittingly get myself into a beautiful mess like this. Stormcloak rebellion, something I didn't take quite seriously when listening about it in faraway Tamriel inns. But now it's finally hit home.

The guard was shutting these two up, no doubt cranky for spending his time freezing his ass off in saddle. It's not just the weather here, people are cold too. Like stone chiseled directly from these mountains, they stand upright, unrelenting in the strongest of winds. This rebellion is the product of that unbending national characteristic.

And thus, the guard's effort to promote silence was ignored, conversation I paid no attention to carried on undiscouraged. The thief started fretting nervously, it seemed the poor guy just started to realize this isn't a ride to a carnival, and even broke down and started praying to his gods at one point, just as we started to approach a small settlement and someone shouting our arrival and calling for a headsman. _Helgen_, I recalled the name of the town. _Last time I was here I was also crossing the border, but in the other direction._ As we wheeled our way through town, I couldn't help but remember everything that has led me to leave my homeland. But all that grim shit is buried beneath even more grim shit, and the fact that the end of the line was creeping near, interfered with all thinking. Even before I saw it, I smelled it. I smelled blood on more occasions than I could remember. The chopping block, so simple a thing and yet so useful for the hardest of tasks. Killing someone is not an easy thing, but with proper equipment it sure becomes easier. As we were passing a house, a man ushered his child inside, no doubt knowing what's up. We parked conveniently close to the block, and started hopping out of the wagon one by one.

The thief was becoming increasingly upset, shouting about this being a mistake like that's going to change a damn thing. They don't call out the executioner if they are going to have second thoughts.

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time." shouted a woman in captain's uniform. And pretty soon names Ulfric and Ralof were called out and they stepped towards the block like real gentlemen. But the thief, when his name came up, suddenly decided to pull off a miracle and fly away into freedom, but something must have gone wrong because he only ran pitifully slow, and earned an arrow in the back for his attempt.

"Anyone else feel like running?" shouted the captain over the crowd of prisoners.

"Wait. You there. Step forward." a soldier holding the list said looking at me. I did as ordered. "Who are you?" he asked with genuine interest in his voice.

Obviously not being on the list I said "A man in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Forget the list. He goes to the block." said the female captain who obviously didn't want to tire herself with paperwork. The soldier said something that sounded like a meager apology "...at least you will die here in your homeland." he said. _Well, I did come back because I didn't want my tombstone to be in a foreign land _I thought to myself bitterly.

I was ordered to follow the captain and so I did. I joined the other prisoners listening to a general delivering a speech to Ulfric, the alpha Stormcloak, when an unnatural roar ripped the sky. Paying no attention to it, the well oiled Imperial machine carried on with the show of the day. A priestess was asked to give us last rites but was rudely interrupted by a Stormcloak, who apparently didn't have all morning, as he was busy getting his head chopped off. When his mouth was permanently disconnected from his anus, head safely in the basket, and body kicked away for my convenience, I was forced politely to take his spot. Another powerful roar filled our ears, but was dismissed again by the captain who seems to consider cutting people's heads off as the most important mission in her life.

I got on my knees in front of the block, kindly helped down with the captain's foot. I put my head down on the block, with a big tower, a bigger mountain, and an even bigger axe in the hands of the executioner, as my last image of the world before I die. Focused on the axe I kind of missed a huge dragon in the backround...

The axe raised slowly and my whole life flashed before my eyes...

The plight that made me leave Skyrim...

The mercenary work...

The Daedra work...

I was not a good man. I deserve to die. I closed my eyes and waited in silent anticipation.

To be continued...


End file.
